


Devil's Dance Floor

by Kenzi_Hearts_Squirrel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Demons, Diary/Journal, Eventual Smut, F/M, How Do I Tag, I'm Bad At Tagging, Nephilim, POV Alternating, POV First Person, POV Third Person, Prophecy, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Sweet Sam, Tags Are Hard, Vampire Pimps, Vampires, What are you?, what am I?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-01
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-03-26 16:17:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3857011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kenzi_Hearts_Squirrel/pseuds/Kenzi_Hearts_Squirrel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mackenzie doesn't know who or what she is. She simply knows she isn't normal, she isn't entirely human. </p><p>But that isn't her biggest problem when she finds herself far from home, in a bad place, with no way out.</p><p>Vampires.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blog Post #1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello new lovelies.  
> I do not claim to own the rights to any of the characters except for Mackenzie.
> 
> I haven't written FanFic in years, and this is my first in the Supernatural universe.  
> I cannot guarantee that anything is canon.  
> But, your favorite boys will be around, and may even swoop in and save the day. 
> 
> The beginning takes place in a first person blog post/journal style.  
> This was helpful in introducing the main character and back story.  
> I'd like to intermix it with an actual third person POV story line. 
> 
> Let me know what you think.

Blog Post #1 

From the time that I was born, I knew that I had done this all before. I had lived before. I had died before. How many times had I come into this world and how many times had I left it? These are the only questions that remain. Well, maybe not the ONLY ones, but the big ones anyway.

I don't remember my Mother's face. Did I ever see it?

Do I even have a Father? Surely to be born, one must need a Father?

I was raised in an orphanage, a “group home” run by the Catholic church and a stern set of nuns. That's right, me, the abomination, raised by the righteous and the holy. The irony is almost poetic. I do not know what I am. I don't know if there is a name for what I can do, or if I am simply a mutation. Am I a monster? A witch? An angel? I fear I am some hybrid, some sinister thing in between.

Enoch speaks of the Nephilim, he speaks of monsters and of visions. I've wondered in the dark before sleep over came me for many years, if Angels and Devils, if Nephilim and Gods ever really existed at all. And if they did, certainly the Nephilim would be the bastard children that God himself would choose to hide. Wasn't that why there was the big flood in the first place? There was lots of time in a Catholic group home to read and ponder religion... but these were questions you just didn't ask. 

But, these Nephilim, these Giants that were the offspring of the “sons of God” and the “daughters of men” couldn't possibly be revered. They must be the worst of Heaven's secrets. Worse even than the demons and monsters that lurk just beyond your imagination in the dark. So bad in fact, that Enoch's book isn't even included in the Bible. Just a small little verse somewhere in Genesis to validate the ramblings of the crazy prophet Enoch.

The thing is, I look normal. I look human. Some days, I even feel human. I look in the mirror and I see a woman with a thin physique, lined with muscle. I see large eyes, too long hair that just wont hold a curl and skin that's too pale under the fluorescent light.

If I wasn't human, wouldn't I have some tell tale sign that that was the case? Could I even walk into Mass on Sunday without bursting into flames? Surely, I can't be a creature of God with this curse upon me. 

It's actually been a blessing at times. A curse at others. But the point remains the same. WOULDN'T I KNOW IF I WASN'T HUMAN!? I bleed just like everyone else. I cry just like everyone else. But, I know things that no one else knows.

Now, you must be asking, how do I know I'm different? What is it that makes me so sure that I'm some supernatural offspring and not simply suffering from a schizophrenic disorder with religious delusions?  
Well, that's why I'm here. To tell you.

My first real memory was of being born. This time. The cold was shocking, and the hand, even gloved in the blue film, was rough and hard. The brightness around me was so harsh and blinding. Who wouldn't cry at this violent expulsion from your home?

See, that's the thing. I didn't cry. I'd been here before. Not in this hospital or this room. Not in this time, even. But I had felt it all before. Was it a dream or a memory? I cannot know for certain. Can a baby dream in utero of what awaits them outside the soft warm womb? I doubt it, seriously, but I cannot for certain KNOW it.

Some say we choose these lives. That we have some Cosmic say-so in how we suffer or who our family is – it is a hard concept to accept. Who would choose to live a short life of suffering only to die of childhood cancer? Surely, not I.

That's merely one of the many things that puts a huge gaping hole in the theory, but again – it is something that I cannot know for sure one way or the other.

I do know that to be human is to want to minimize our suffering – even as a disembodied soul we would almost certainly choose the path of least resistance. That is, of course, unless the more difficult path had some reward at the end; a type of Cosmic pay-off. Maybe that is the case...but what then, is the reward? To simply do it all over again? A new place. A new time. Different body. More torturous human suffering. When does it end?

Where were we? Oh yes, memories... and why I am so sure I'm a fucked up progeny of something corrupt. 

My first really human memory, of actual thought, as a sentient being with conscious order is around the age of 4. Now, remember I never cried as a child. I rarely complained. I always somehow instinctively knew my place in the hierarchy of humanity. I was a patient and deliberate child. That is, until the new kid arrived.

I was an odd little girl, I was told on more than one occasion that I simply knew too much. A friend later on would call me an old soul. 

I was quiet and well behaved, until I met Henry. I became inconsolable for hours at a time. Throwing tantrums and becoming a generally fitful child. I couldn't relegate what I knew and what I felt with my place in the world. How does a four year old articulate that evil has just moved in?

You've seen the horror movie the Omen? I hadn't until recently, but it's a very good starting place for this story. Henry was older than me. Only by a few years... but the difference between 4 and 7 is very marked when you actually are those ages. No, he probably wasn't the anti-Christ like in the movie, although, I'm still not certain. But, I do know that he was evil. I had known it since I first looked into his eyes. 

How did I know then as a small child, that another poor orphan boy was evil? I cannot say now what really tipped me off, just as I cannot explain how a 10 year old knew that Sister Margaret and Sister Sara were having a torrid affair and were very much in love with one another. It isn't a psychic knowing, and it isn't from careful observation (although truthfully that's never hurt) It's just a sense of feeling of knowing that these things are truth. I'm very rarely wrong. I felt the blackness and the wrath in Henry's core, and I avoided him at all costs.

He ended up in the papers years later, found by the police, after having eaten the foot of a small neighborhood girl. It wasn't the first. These evil men are rarely caught the first time. He admitted when he was finally found that, had he known he would have visitors so early he would've started the rump roast sooner. That's a quote from the newspaper just days after his arrest. One must wonder, why the reporter chose to include it in the article at all – surely the visual it provides is quite unnecessary.


	2. Blog Post #2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More back story, it's getting there... I promise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am uploading all three of the beginning chapters. I haven't finalized my thoughts on how I'd like to write the remaining story line.

Blog Post #2

I wasn't fostered out until I was 15. By that time I had learned to smile, hide my disgust and keep my mouth shut. “Knowing” other people's secrets wasn't helping me so far, and it had turned into an almost crippling ability as a teenager, living in a house with many other pubescent young adults.

My foster family wasn't the classic loving family that every foster kid dreams of, but it certainly beat the cramped quarters and musty smell of the old nuns at the group home. We, my “brothers” and “sisters” and I, worked hard for the Shard family. They were not cruel, but they were stern. (This was not a foreign concept to me. NUNS.) 

From sun up to sun down we worked the fields. We fed and groomed the livestock, we collected eggs, we made the meals. There wasn't one among us that would've traded it for our lives before though. We were always diligent in our tasks. We taught and we learned. We were home schooled by Mrs. Shard every evening before supper, and we prayed just like everyone else. (and I never burst into flames)

No one raised a hand against us in those years, and though they weren't overtly emotional people, I believe the Shard's cared for us in their own way. I never felt as if I were a burden, and I knew my hard work on the farm was a form of paying for my room and board, and that was okay. It made me feel accomplished at the end of the day. And the exhaustion kept my whirling thoughts quiet in the night.

None of this however, could stop me from planning my escape.

I knew then, as I know now that life held more for me than a simple country house full of floral patterned plates and fences that needed mending. And so, at 17, on my way into town to visit the corner store I found myself detouring toward the small bus depot.

This, actually had not been my plan. I had hoped to start working an honest to goodness job in town and saving the money and doing things right. But, as my feet carried me closer and closer to the ticket window, I knew the grocery money in my pocket would take me where I needed to go – which was anywhere but where I was.

I held no guilt for spending the week's grocery money on my escape. The Shard's had been good to me but I knew, just like anyone else, they'd continue to collect and spend the checks the state would send for my care until I hit 18. I figured, that would make up for what I was about to do – and I bought my one way ticket to Missouri.

Now, my mind never stops thinking. My eyes are always observing, analyzing and cataloging. I am sure that the bus ride out of town, away from life as I knew it was no different. But for the life of me, I can't remember most of it.

I don't remember if I was nervous, or if I was hungry. I don't remember if I was scared or if I was lonely. Looking back I can't tell you what the man sitting next to me was wearing, only that he smelled of cheap drug-store cologne and B.O. And that he, every so often, would slide his hand up my thigh.

But, mostly, what I do remember was the scene outside my window. How fast the trees and small towns passed before me and thinking to myself, that the feeling was much like the old saying “Your life passing before your eyes”. Which was always attributed to death or near death experiences. I remember thinking, here I am, dying again – who will I be reborn as this time? - and reveling in the idea that this time I got to choose where, when, and who I wanted to be. 

Maybe those People were right – maybe souls do choose before birth to live a hard life, because in the end, it's worth it.


	3. Blog Post #3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What has Mackenzie gotten herself into?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here is where I need your input. Should I continue with the first person Blog posts or start a more novel-esque story. Let me know what you think in the comments. As always, Thanks.

Blog Post #3

I didn't spend much time deciding where to stay in town. The big bad city was intimidating. Oh yes, to a small town girl, St. Louis was damn near the Big Apple in terms of size, at least in my perception. I found a really cheap motel. The skeezy kind, with carpet from the 70s that practically sticks to your shoes as you waded through the smell of stale cigarettes and day old lubricant. But, I was happy. I was free. 

I was 17 and strong willed – I was ready to finally start living. The noise was the biggest problem in the city, and I don't mean the sirens or the traffic. It was the static in the background. The never ending hum of thoughts and patterns of emotions and feelings. It was almost maddening. Previously, when everyone drifted off to sleep the feelings - the sensations dulled and I could relax. But, in a real and true city, there is never a time when everyone is asleep. There was always something seeping in. It was hard to even close my eyes.

But, as it turns out, seeing all of the good and bad in a person, their grace and their black muddled masses... can be extremely helpful when paying your rent depends on the kindness, or lechery, of strangers. It didn't take long to find a job. I was young and pretty, and my motel was right in the middle of a particularly rough neighborhood. The kind of neighborhood people went to disappear. Sometimes for a little while and sometimes forever.

I ended up dancing at a Gentleman's club. That's the politically correct term for being a stripper. Admittedly not my first choice. But, at the time it seemed better than starving to death or living on Ramen noodles and coffee – which after 2 weeks, isn't all that preferable to starvation.

Let's face it, as a home school dropout runaway orphan with a fake name (I can't say here what it is, and when I finish this little tale, I'm sure you'll understand why) there really aren't a whole lot of options in a place you've never been, full of people you don't know. There may have been another way, but that's neither here nor there anymore. And I don't have time to dwell on the decisions that brought me here. All I can say is, if I had the choice to do it over again – I wouldn't have gotten on the bus. 

Where was I? Oh, yeah... “Dancing”

“Dancing” presented me with a unique opportunity. I could hone my skills at reading people. I knew their intentions – admittedly more accurately when they were drinking or had otherwise lowered their inhibitions. Also, and I know this is uncomfortable, but when touching another person, the slight feelings became much stronger. Especially when the touch was of an intimate nature... don't confuse the term intimate with romantic. There was nothing romantic about it.

But, as time went on I learned many things. One, how to block some of the unwanted “vibes” or whatever you want to call them, and Two, how to single out a target. (Don't hate on me here, I'm a stripper. These men come to my place of employment to spend money and get their rocks off without the risk of picking up an undercover cop dressed as a hooker. So, yeah... I zero in on the fat wallets and the desperate sweaty men. This is how I pay my bills and minimize the time I actually spend at work. It's skeezy, I know, but so are they.)

Most men are closet perverts, but these are the 'normal' pervs so to speak. Normal pervs have pretty normal fantasies – and normal habits...and even normal roving hands when you turn your back on them. That is most men.

Some men, and it took me longer to learn this than I'd like to admit, are not normal. Their perviness far surpasses the things we think of as acceptable, even extreme. These men are dangerous, and I cannot tell you enough how much I had wished that ignorance was bliss.

When I first saw them, I knew they were scum. I knew there was darkness in them. What I did NOT know was their peculiar eating habits. How could I have? Vampires are NOT real. This was something that I was sure I did KNOW. Vampires did not exist.

But, soon it became very clear that the things I thought I knew... were in fact very very wrong.

The things you know are not real... are often times very real. So real in fact, that they are EVERYWHERE.

How had my gift skipped such very important information? Apparently, “the monster wavelength” is a very different thing, and I lack monster radar unless I'm actually touching said monster. No surprise there, in my line of work I really prefer NOT to touch the guys around me, especially those with the cancerous tar spots inside them.

Oh, and when I say “monster” I mean it. These beasts do not glitter in the sunlight and they don't subsist on animal blood or microwaved donations from a cooler. These fucking guys (and gals) are scary. Yeah, and talk about fangs... there aren't two sharp little things hidden in that mouth. No. there's at least 2 rows of razor sharp teeth just beyond that gum line. Yes, you do need to be awfully close to see them... and no, you likely won't survive long enough to tell anyone what you saw.

Predators in plain sight.

They slowly took over the club. I didn't see it at first. I avoided the big nights, you know the Fridays and Saturdays, when men are spending big and the clubs are packed. I didn't see it at first... for this, I will always be sorry. The V-men as I called them then, would swoop in, grab a table, and prowl for dinner. It started with just a few, and gradually more and more of the tables were filling with the monsters.

I really did try to avoid them. I was sure they'd see through me. I knew that somehow my disgust would shine through my facade. I didn't want to be a beacon... I didn't want to be some thing's meal. I truly didn't know how accurate Hollywood's portrayal of them was, but I was sure it was lacking. What with the rise of the Vampy teen novels full of paranormal glitz and glamour boyfriends... I knew I couldn't rely on the books (which admittedly I'd read enough of to know, that whoever came up with that version had never actually met the real thing.)

Predators pick off the weak. They sense (smell?) fear and they like the thrill of the hunt.  
I knew it wouldn't be long before they figured out I knew what they were.

So, what did I do? I avoided them at all costs. Until it was no longer an option.

Soon, the whole club teemed with them. You'd be hard up to find a human that didn't actually work there. At some point, they bought the place. Maybe they killed Tony, my boss. Maybe they turned him? I don't know. But as it turned out, my paychecks, my tips, were all coming from the bloodthirsty monsters. It was... it is, entirely not awesome. I bring in men. I bring in women. They don't leave. They just disappear in this corner of my hell... like everyone else.

I've been a “dancer” now for almost 5 years. The last 3 working for the V-men. They changed the name of the club, you know. “BloodLust” -how very on the nose. How could you not KNOW?

Regardless, my “job” has changed a bit over the years. I still dance, all of us girls do, we're too scared to leave. We know. And they know we know. There's nowhere to run. We're in the nest of the viper. There is no leaving... although death sometimes seems preferable... at least to being a blood whore. 

I'm not stupid. I don't want to be here. I don't think it's glamorous and it isn't something I enjoy... I'm simply too scared to leave.

It's like curling up in bed every night next to a hit-man. You know what he does, he knows you know... and you still stay. Not out of love. Not out of honor. You're simply too fucking scared to walk out the door. So, you roll over, smile sweetly, and slip your hand under the covers toward his thighs. Because that's your security. As long as you keep him happy, you're not dead.

HELP ME


	4. A Day In The Life - MS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Day in the life of Mackenzie Shard - MS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first, third person POV Chapter. 
> 
> (You'll see these abbreviations after chapter titles for awhile)  
> MS- Mackenzie Shard  
> DW & SW - Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
> 
> Chapter 5 will be our Lovely Boys.

A DAY IN THE LIFE – MS

Mackenzie took a deep breath and closed her laptop. She stepped away from the small bedside table. It wasn't until she had packed the computer away– hidden nestled behind the headboard – that she realized she was crying. This was something she rarely did. In fact, she was known among her 'friends' for not crying. Not screaming. Mackenzie was a thinker, an over-analyzer. It wasn't that she didn't feel, there just wasn't enough time or space in her mind to feel everyone else's emotions and her own at the same time.

Lately, she had become increasingly frustrated with humans and monsters alike, but rarely to the point of tears. Because, to her, there was little point in sadness. She always strove to either make the best of a bad situation or to change it. She didn't see the logic in remaining somewhere or doing something that made you sad. And when the situation couldn't be left or changed, she found a way to exist within it. She shut down, essentially. 

Until now, she hadn't realized how her complete lack of control in her current situation was bringing her down. So far in fact, that the strong-willed, independent young woman had actually asked for help. She had practically screamed it from the roof tops. Would anyone believe her? She knew that no one on the internet would take her seriously. They'd most certainly write it off as fantasy – fiction – and she couldn't blame them. 

The truth is much harder to swallow than the glossed over version we choose to perceive. 

Still a part of her hoped and even prayed that there was someone out there to help. A knight in shining armor or a Van Helsing wannabe. It didn't matter to her. She just needed someone to take her by the hand and lead her from this hell. Someone, she hoped, that wouldn't die in the process.

But as it stood, she was just a girl in a dirty motel room, covering bite marks with too thick make-up and waiting for the clock to strike 6:00. 

There were lots of girls in the old motel now. Some of them younger than Mackenzie. She was actually on the older end of the group. 25 seemed to be the age limit. Where the women went after that, no one knew. They speculated of course, but everyone just kind of let them slip into faded memories. No one talked about the girls much after they left.

Mackenzie slipped on her flip flops, grabbed her jacket and stared at the red shining numbers on the bedside alarm clock. They mocked her. Her head was turned, dreading the moment that the numbers changed. And, when they eventually clicked over she walked out the door and locked it behind her.

There were other girls, dancers like her, standing on the concrete slab that circled the parking lot. Some held cigarettes to their painted lips with shaking fingers. Others had eyes so glossy, Mackenzie was sure they'd already started drinking. She couldn't blame them, their vices helped them cope, heal, or just make it through the next few hours. If only she had a vice of her own.

She hadn't had much of a chance to rebel as a teenager, other than the bus ride to St. Louis she hadn't done much of anything outside her own mind. She wasn't a virgin though, and she enjoyed sex, at least the 2 or 3 times she'd had it. She was pretty sure it was supposed to be better, or at least different and it probably was for most people. Her problem was shutting off all the incoming emotions so she could enjoy it herself. That would be a fun vice, she thought, if only she had a different profession. To top off here non-rebellion, she'd only ever had a beer once that one of the boys had stolen from Mr. Shard, and it had tasted like warm piss. She'd never tried it again. There were days when she felt almost desperate enough to drown her sorrows and shut off the noise with a bottle of booze. The girls in the motel always offered it up, but she turned them down every time.

She wondered if that was part of the reason they stopped inviting her to their rooms. No one talked to her much, but she was sure that was more of a self-inflicted solitude. With the feelings seeping in constantly it was hard to maintain a true friendship. And most of the girls had some idea of what she could do. They'd ask her for advice on clients and whether or not it was safe to sneak out... they just didn't approach her in casual conversation. Not anymore. There was a time when she was better at hiding her reactions to others, but she was nearly exhausted from blocking so much incoming at work, there wasn't much energy left for anything but survival.

Every evening the same car pulled into the parking lot, and all the women would line up and follow the car to the club. Just like lambs to the slaughter. Mackenzie couldn't help but see the similarities every night that she worked. Tonight was no different. So, they walked. Some in clumps, some alone, and others wobbled on their heels, maybe because of the alcohol. It didn't matter why. It was sad either way. 

The club was only half a block from the motel, and every time she made the walk she couldn't help but feel like a voiceless animal. And every time she fell back into her same childhood coping tactics. She watched, she listened and she quietly observed the others. All the while keeping her mouth shut. In these moments of mental solitude she saw things others would miss. She saw the Vampires outside the motel at dusk, and during the day she saw the others. Humans, she suspected watching them. Humans that knew about Vampires. Humans who allowed others like them to be subjugated and objectified.

She hated them the most. Even more than the vampires. Monsters were in their nature animalistic, predatory and evil. Humans, she believed, had a choice. These living, breathing humans didn't just watch in ignorance. No, they knew about the vampires, and actually helped them. It disgusted her more than most things. And that was saying a lot given her line of work.

That night at the club was much like any other. Mackenzie always arrived with the other girls even though she didn't start dancing until after 7. This gave her ample time to dress and do her make-up. She hated wearing the clothes before or after work. The looks and the feelings she picked up from men when she was wearing them, were best left at work she figured. Thankfully the human clientele were plentiful, and it saved her from losing anymore blood, when the bosses were hungry and the crowds just weren't up to par.

Early morning was her favorite time of the day. It was her time all to herself. She walked back to the motel on her aching feet, checking all the while for the Vamp watch dogs that seemed to eye her everywhere she went. Dodging them had become more of a game for her than a nuisance. She almost enjoyed the thrill. It wasn't hard with her ability to wait until they were properly distracted and then sneak off. It's how she got her laptop and her phone.

In fact, other girls had asked her to get them a phone as soon as word had spread that she had one. Often times, those same girls helped provide the distractions. Even though they had the phones they dared not call anyone, they only texted with their phones on silent, and only to each other. 

Sometimes Mackenzie wondered if it wasn't some twisted version of Stockholm Syndrome.

She could hear other girls, a few rooms away, living it up, partying, crying. It was hard to tell where the emotional lines blurred. Often the girls were so strung out, or depressed that all of their insides grayed. They lost their glow quickly in this business. Some turned dark inside. She pondered if evil was catching. Could the corruption spread?

She pulled out the laptop, and turned on her phone's mobile hot-spot. There was no WiFi, and she knew her data plan wouldn't last long, but she had to see if anyone had commented or replied to her post. She needed to know if anyone was out there. She needed to KNOW she wasn't alone. Someone, somewhere, surely knew that Vampires were real. 

When she brought up her page, there were minimal hits, and no comments to read. She began having second thoughts about reaching out to others for help. She couldn't seem to save herself, and she couldn't rally the other girls either. Maybe she was the sacrificial lamb. Maybe, she could do this one thing. Maybe, she could take down her plea for help. Maybe, that act in itself could save someone. Her would-be rescuer wouldn't have to be put in harm's way, just for her. 

She typed her post quickly, and stashed her laptop. Her nerves were fried. She was defeated, but felt hopeful. Hopeful, that no one else had to suffer at the hands of the Vampires, at least not on account of her. She laid back on the musty bed and clicked off the lamp. Just as her eyes fluttered shut, she heard the knock on the door.

 

Blog Post #4

Save yourself. Don't come here. Don't help us. Forget it. Please.


	5. HOME SWEET HOME (DW&SW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Sam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh I am so sorry it has taken this long to update. 7 months...I'm ashamed. truly. But, life sometimes gets in the way. Anywho, here's Chapter 5. <3

HOME SWEET HOME – DW & SW

The deep purr of the '67 Impala's engine died as Dean removed the key from the ignition. His jeans were still sticky with the remnants of yesterday's hunt. He sighed audibly, hoping his brother, Sam, had finally found a way to contact Castiel. Up until recently, even a softly spoken prayer to Thursday's angel could bring the guardian and friend to the door, so to speak. Cas wasn't one for knocking, or any other human social paradigms. 

Undoubtedly he could hear them in Heaven, but was either too busy to come when they called, or he simply wasn't able to – both circumstances worried the brothers – Dean especially. He scrubbed his rough hand down his face and got out of the car. He resigned himself to sleep, soon.

Dean made his way inside the bunker. Home sweet home, he thought to himself. It was late. In fact, early morning, was a more accurate term for the time. The sun hadn't peeked over the horizon yet, and the moon still hung low on the other side of the sky. Too many sleepless hours on the road took their toll, but Dean wouldn't have it any other way. Not anymore.

He wasn't the studious, bookworm type like his brother. He just couldn't sit still. He needed the adrenaline pumping, the risk, to keep the restless thoughts at bay. He shrugged off his jacket and tossed it across the large centered table. He shook his head. He didn't want to wake Sam yet. He knew Sam liked to burn the midnight oil when it came to his research, and he probably hadn't been crashed out for long.

Dean quietly made his way to his room, a first since they were small boys. Years on the road and on the run, hunting monsters, and chasing demons, had left them with little to call home – except for each other and Baby, the Chevy parked in the garage. He peeled of his blood-soaked jeans and his shirt, and debated on a shower before sleeping. Hell, he thought, he could shower in the morning. His eyes closed almost instantly upon hitting the pillow.

 

A few hours later, with the sun just above the Kansas tree line, Sam rose from his slumber and made his way to the kitchen. He rubbed the sleep from his still swollen eyes and mumbled, “coffee...must have coffee.” He had, in fact, spent most of the night researching on the Internet. Scanning through newspaper articles and searching for anything even remotely demonic. A few electrical storms had cropped up over a Tulsa suburb, but no other signs were nearby, and a lightning storm in the mid-west wasn't really all that odd.

The only other real lead seemed to be the exponential rise in missing persons reports out of St. Louis. And although the city itself remained pretty steady on the murder capital top ten list, Sam noticed a pattern to the reports of the missing people. Most were men, between 25 and 45 years old, with some unsavory or rough backgrounds. This made for a pretty odd grouping, given that men in that age range weren't usually considered soft targets; they could likely fight off an attack, and usually had the physical strength to somewhat defend themselves. Especially the types on this list.

Sam flipped on the dining room's lamps and sat down in front of his laptop. This time with a cup of coffee rather than a bottle of beer in his hand. He sipped the hot brew slowly as he clicked through St Louis's news websites, searching for leads. He hadn't even finished his first cup when a pop-up ad filled the screen. “Damn it, Dean. Porn equals Pop-ups! Jerk.” he grumbled. But, before he could click the little black 'X' on the corner of the window he noticed the address on the Club's ad, “hmmm...right in the center...” and with a name like BLOODLUST he could only imagine who actually ran the joint.

As diligent as ever, Sam googled the club and some of the names on the screen. One stood out among the others. A small hint of familiarity echoed through him, and he clicked on the Dancer's profile.  
“Mack. Mack...Mackenzie. That's it!” One more quick search and there in front of him, was the photo circulated by Police 6 years ago, when a 17 year old small-town girl had disappeared. “Mackenzie Shard. That's her!” Sam jumped up from the chair as he pushed off of the table, nearly spilling the coffee all over the computer in the process. He made a beeline for the hallway and started pounding on Dean's door. Looking at his watch, he knew it was still a bit early to wake his older brother, but this lead just couldn't wait.

“What! What? Stop banging Sammy, I'm getting up!” Dean yelled toward the rattling door, but before he could climb off the bed, Sam was already barging in and rambling on about the case from years ago. “Sam,” Dean said, this time clearly annoyed, “ unless you feel like getting bitch-slapped at seven fifteen in the morning, I suggest you let me pee and caffeinate before we do this time-warp crap.”

“Dean, The Shard Family farm. That missing girl. Vampires. Come on, man, hurry the Hell up!”  
Sam slammed the door just a little too hard and went back to the kitchen to pour his second cup of coffee, and too late realized that he probably should have mentioned the strippers, if he really wanted Dean to hurry.

About 10 minutes later Dean strolled into the dining room, slightly more awake than when Sam had seen him last, and with a loud sigh, he leaned over the laptop. “Okay, okay, so the farm with all the dead kids in Iowa, and the missing girl – that's the Shard family?” Dean asked.

Sam nodded.

Dean continued, “And this girl...this stripper,” he points to the picture on the Club's pop-up ad, “this is the missing orphan?”

Sam, slightly exasperated, and inching toward impatient, nodded again.

“And you're telling me, let me get this right now...you think she's a vampire stripper, in a vampire strip club, eating customers? Wasn't that a movie or something?”

Sam shook his head, partially expecting this from Dean, it did sound incredulous. “Dean, all I'm saying is some thing's not adding up about this chick. She runs off and her entire foster family bites it, and she's completely off the grid for half a decade, and now she shows up on this club's website? A club hat just happens to be at the center of a ton of missing persons reports. And, for the record,I think it's pretty clear with a name like BLOODLUST, this club is straight out of an HBO series. Not a movie. The movie was zombies.”

Dean finally agreed that something did seem off about the club, the girl however, seemed a bit above his pay grade.

Dean headed off to shower, dress, and pack the machetes. And, again, Sam spent the remainder of the time in the bunker clicking away at any promising links. To be fair, searching terms like, 'exsanguination', 'stripper', and 'missing' together yielded few helpful results. Most of them certainly caused some worry about the youth of the world, but weren't pertinent to the case at hand.

A couple hours later, 'Baby' roared to life and the boys headed to Interstate 70 and toward Missouri. A short time into the drive, Sam turned to his brother, “So, check this out! I think I found mystery Mackenzie's blog. At least it's someone's there... At the club. It's gotta be.”

Dean reached over and turned down the car's radio, Foreigner's “Cold As Ice” barely audible now as it whispered from the back seat's speakers. He turned toward Sam and arched his eyebrow expectantly. “I didn't turn it down just to wait Sammy, let's hear it.”

Sam continued, “Okay, listen to this: It's actually been a blessing at times. A curse at others. But the point remains the same. WOULDN'T I KNOW IF I WASN'T HUMAN!? I bleed just like everyone else. I cry just like everyone else. But, I know things that no one else knows.” 

Sam continued to read other passages from the blog. Blurbs about monsters, demons, Nephilim, even God stood out, and Sammy mentioned all the big stuff before finally adding his own 2 cents, “Man, this stuff is dark, Dean. Her last post was yesterday. She literally ended it with 'Help Me'.”

Dean, having heard more than enough, chimed in, “I think it's safe to say she's not a Vamp. But, that shit about Nephilim doesn't sit right. I know Cas said there was only the one, and she's toast now, but DAMN IT CAS! NOW WOULD BE A GOOD TIME TO SHOW UP AND ANSWER SOME FREAKIN' QUESTIONS!” Dean looked up, clearly frustrated, and pounded his palm on the steering wheel, but fell silent. Minutes ticked by before Sam spoke again.

“You know it looks like she had a really religious upbringing – seems to me she's probably psychic or something and just doesn't know how to categorize it or whatever...or she's crazy. Certifiable, even. But, if you told a psychiatrist all the shit that we know. The demons, monsters, angels, hell that we kill those things… well, we both know first-hand, that they'd lock us up too.”

Dean nodded, “Yeah, probably owe Crazy-town the benefit of the doubt...but, man, she works for vampires, not a whole lotta gray area there.”


	6. I hear you knocking, but you can't come in

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bloody, messy, badness
> 
> and
> 
> Machetes

“I HEAR YOU KNOCKING BUT YOU CAN'T COME IN” (MS)

 

Mackenzie jumped from the bed, just as another light knock echoed in the dark. This one faster and frantic. She spared a quick glance at the bed frame, and saw no hint of her laptop peeking out. Always cautious, she attempted to feel her way through the door, and felt only worry and fear on the other side. It pulsed through her. Finding it better than anger or aggression, and her self-preservation skills deeming it safe, she slowly opened the door. Feigning sleepiness, she yawned through squinted and questioning eyes. She was sure she barely pulled off the facade, but the young girl on the other side, seemed too scared to notice. She started, talking a mile a minute in hushed tones and left Mackenzie striving just to keep up, “They're here. They're searching the rooms on the top floor as we speak. Whadda we do, Mack? If they find our phones they're gonna kill us, Mack. I don't wanna die here. Not here. I don't...”

Mackenzie lightly placed her hands on the girls shoulders, and fought the urge to shake the hysterical tone out of her voice. Nica was small, fragile, and apparently prone to panic. She was the youngest of the girls at the club, but still usually had a pretty calm head. Mackenzie hadn't felt this kind of fear from one of the girls in a long time. She felt a spark in Nica, and really wished the girl was anywhere but here. Nica closed her gaping mouth and stared at Mack wide-eyed and questioning. She thought quickly and managed to relay a vague hail-Mary of a plan. She told Nica to gather the rest of the girls on their floor into one room, and sent her tip-toeing back through the dark hallway. As quietly as possible Mackenzie shut the door and cringed as the latch clicked. In the silence of the hallway, it might as well have been a scream.

She turned toward the room, leaned her back against the door and took a deep breath. The energy and anxiety of the others ran through her and she fought the frenzy as it rose within her chest. She ran to the far side of her bed and pulled out the laptop and phone. She made sure they were both powered off before she tossed them on the bed. She eyed the room around her, and slid the sole chair from the kitchenette into the bathroom. She climbed up, and using her press-on nails, began unscrewing the small bolts out of the air vent just above the door.

Having successfully stashed her contraband electronics into the vent and screwing the cover back on as best as she could, she climbed down and replaced the chair. Every sound seemed too loud, ever breath felt cavernous. Her only hope was that the sun was high enough in the sky to prevent the real bosses from leaving their darkened lairs. She knew, that sunlight wouldn't kill them, but she had yet to see one venture out willingly after sunrise proper.

Her heart continued to pound, and she could practically hear the adrenaline pumping through her veins.  
She turned the light back off, and could hear Nica carrying out the plan. Her pulse was replaced by the thumping beat from down the hall. The dance music rattled the walls and Mackenzie wondered how long before the plaster started to crumble. She smiled to herself, wouldn't it be lovely to watch this 70s eyesore crumble? As she laid there in the dark on her bed she heard the high pitched faked giggles and the bouncing of bedsprings. “Perfect” she whispered to herself. Just another girl's “night” party after work. In her world, “night” was a relative term. 

A few minutes passed before Mackenzie ceased breathing altogether, as she heard the tell-tale sounds of heavy foot falls upon the hallway stairs. Seconds later she heard the sound of a fist pounding on the door. She knew it was Nica's door, only a few yards away, and now the plan was truly in motion. Mackenzie was still hopeful that it was merely human grunts, and she knew the two they were likely to send. Both of them were pretty skeavy, but one was certainly more dominant than the other. She knew him only as Joe, his underling, as far as she knew, didn't have a name. At least, not one that she had ever heard. Although his size, short and round, led her to nickname him Stumpy. Of course, there were others that could've been in the room now, but she was counting on history repeating itself. Joe could be easily bribed. Usually with the particular talents that the girls had. They were “merchandise” according to the boss man, and weren't to be touched unless necessary.

Mackenzie waited another minute or two, and then slid from the bed. She checked her outfit in the mirror. Not too obvious, but still showing enough skin. Her black boy short underwear and tight pink camisole said, 'I'm sleepy, and almost naked.' Perfect she thought, and hoped this ruse would work. She opened her door, and walked into the dark hallway. She knew full well that Joe wasn't going to be happy with seconds, and would leave Stumpy standing guard at the door, keeping an eye out for anyone that would cause a scene or alert the V-men.

Sure as shit, there he was, arms crossed in front of his chest and belly sticking out trying in a vain effort to make himself appear taller. It wasn't working. She started her little sashay down the hall, hoping her little sway gave the impression of intoxication, and possible seduction. Her only goal was to get Stumpy away from the door, and far enough down that hall that he wouldn't hear the girls over taking Joe. She knew the plan had holes, so many of them, and she knew there was a large possibility that she'd end up naked with Stumpy before the girls got out and down the hall...but it was the best she could come up with in the meager time she had been allotted.

The plan fell apart long before she even deemed it possible. As she walked up to the door, Stumpy turned toward her, but didn't even register her presence, his eyes focused on a noise behind her and in an instant she was being held with his forearm around her neck. Stumpy grabbed her tight and pressed his belly against her back. His arm tightened around her neck, and a gun raised, from out of nowhere to her left temple. She froze, terrified, feeling nothing but his nasty evil mind radiating through his touch. Her eyes tried to focus and failed. A blurring movement in front of her registered two men. Taller than her, with what looked like guns pointed right at her. 

She tried to squirm. She tried to turn away from Stumpy's hot breath in her ear. “One move bitch. One move, and I'll let them kill you.” Mackenzie stilled, and when she looked up she saw the taller of the men in front of her, staring right at her, pointing at his teeth. His eyes held a question, and she knew instantly what he was asking. 'was the man holding her, a vampire?'

Finally, she thought, finally someone else knows. The elation she felt almost distracted her from how close she really was to being dead at this scum bag's hands. She shook her head back and forth at the man, and his companion, the man with the short hair and fierce eyes mouthed, “down” and before she knew it she was on her knees, ears ringing from the gunshot echoing in the hallway, and blood splattered all over her. Her hair, face, even her clothes were crimson with blood. Who knew head wounds bled so much?

She looked to the ground on her left. The concrete slab glistened with Stumpy's fluids. His body, now a folded pile of flesh. Her mind swirled slowly back to the present and the situation at hand. She breathed a quick sigh of relief, and now assessed her saviors. One, the taller of the two knelt in front of her. She was sure he was talking to her, but she still couldn't hear anything over the roaring in her ears. Was this shock? She wondered and just continued to stare at him. His hair was long and straight. It hung just below his ears. His eyes, in the dim light looked like a light, sweet brown. She couldn't be certain of much else about him, except that he genuinely seemed worried about her. And she liked that. No one had worried about her in so long, that the idea of someone caring, spurred her heart to beat even faster. The other man, the one with the fierce green eyes, now stood opposite of Nica's door. He eyed her suspiciously and the waves of disgust flooded off of him. She wondered if he was disgusted because she was a stripper, or because she was weak and practically enslaved by the Vampires. Part of her sensed something deeper in him, that hated something deeper in her. And she held fear in her then. How much did he know?

“Sam,” the man shaking her said. His name was Sam. And the other man was Dean, his brother. She began to finally come to, and realized he was asking her questions, and she had to get the girls to safety. After that gunshot there wouldn't be any time left to waste. 

Mackenzie finally spoke, “The girls are in there,” she pointed to Nica's door, “but Joe's the only one in there. They should have handled him by now.” The guys looked at each other, for what felt like forever, a silent conversation playing through their eyes. Sam spoke up, “Open the door, Mackenzie, we'll do the rest.” She leaned in to turn the knob, too late realizing what she was no longer feeling. No longer hearing. When the door was finally opened, Mackenzie stood frozen in place for the second time today. Shock wasn't strong enough of a word for what she now felt. Devastation might come close.

The room in front of her was red. The bed was red. The walls were red. The flesh and limbs strewn about the floor were red. She struggled to find anything moving. And when she did, it wasn't what she had hoped. Dean and Sam, pushed her aside and seemed to fly into the room. With an intense speed Dean raised his right arm in a large arc. He held a large blade and in one swift motion had severed the new vamp's head from his torso. More red. Sam charged at another crouched figure in the corner, knocking it off of what appeared to be a male's body. Joe, Mackenzie realized, was dead too. That's one of the problems when it came to Vampires. Self control. They had none. 

Sam now leaned over the vampire he threw from atop Joe's body. He struggled against the monster's strength. His machete gripped in his hand and hovering horizontal above the vamps throat. Both of them using all of their might to move the blade. Sam seemed to be losing. Mackenzie ran forward, and without any comment placed her hands on either side of Sam's and pressed down with him. Their combined effort caused the blade to slice through the vamp's neck smoothly. She felt the blade's half second of hesitation as it severed the spinal cord, and it stopped at the carpet, having finished its grim job. 

“Thanks” Sam breathed as he wiped his hand down his face and the bloody specks smeared. He looked like a Spartan, fresh from the battlefield, and she marveled at him for a second longer than she should have if Dean's throat clearing was any indication. Sam and Mackenzie turned toward him, “Looks like one of your friends is still alive. Not sure for how long though.” Dean glanced at Sam, and another wordless back and forth ensued. Mackenzie could see how this could annoy others, but with her emotional radar, it was little more than a game of charades. If anything of consequence was decided she was pretty sure she'd be able to, at least, decipher any extreme emotion.

She ran to Nica's side, her unconscious body seemed paler and frail. She could barely see the rise and fall of her labored breathing. She had no doubt that Dean was right, and Nica wouldn't last long. But, that wasn't going to stop Mackenzie from at least trying to save her. It broke her heart to see the young girl in this way. She still had life in her, vibrant and unbroken. Mackenzie vowed that is she could be saved, she would be.

Sam arrived at her side shortly, “Listen, there's only so many ways this can play out. One, she wakes up but doesn't last long. Not enough blood. Two, she doesn't wake up at all...”  
Mackenzie looked up into, what she could see now, were soft hazel eyes, “And three?” she asked, imploringly.

“Three,” Sam breathed, “She wakes up like them, and we have to end her.”


	7. It's a Long, Hard Road...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The drive home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one's quite short. Chapter 8 should be up tonight or tomorrow.

CHAPTER 7 - “IT'S A LONG, HARD ROAD...”

 

Mackenzie sat in the backseat of the black Impala, feeling safe for the first time in as long as she could remember. She felt, finally, like she could breathe. Despite all of the uncertainty surrounding her, she maintained her new found calm.

Just a couple of hours ago, she had told Nica, to gather the girls, fake the party, and lure the grunts in. In the hopes of either 'appeasing their manly appetites' or getting them drunk enough to be easily overpowered.

Just a couple of hours ago, she had been very, very wrong in her assumptions that it was just another search for cellphones, hard drugs or other contraband. So wrong, in fact, that now, lying in the backseat draped unceremoniously over her lap was the unconscious and likely soon to be dead body of the only other survivor of the whole grisly ordeal.

Only an hour ago Mackenzie was grabbing everything she owned and shoving it into an over-sized backpack. She was scraping Stumpy's brain matter from her crunchy and stiff hair, and discarding her bloodied and stinking clothes onto the bathroom floor.

Only an hour ago she was pillaging through her dead co-workers rooms for cash, clothes and anything else that she thought might be useful. Going so far as to steal a bottle of booze from the small freezer in one of the rooms. Is it stealing if the owner's are already dead?

Only an hour ago, she watched two men, brothers named Sam and Dean, torch the only home she had. All the while listening to the shortest (oldest?) of the two complain about taking Nica, “a soon to be dead stripper” back to their home, instead of, as he put it, “ganking more vamps.”

Mackenzie didn't mind, mostly. Watching the fire roar cleansed her somehow, she felt new, empowered, and free. Sitting, now, silently in the backseat she wondered if maybe what she was feeling was shock. Maybe the sweet numbness consuming her was merely a defense mechanism. It didn't feel like the familiar dullness she was used to, but it was welcome all the same. She stared ahead of her at the two men sitting in the front seat.

In the full light of day they both looked less hardened than she remembered in the dark. Sure, there was some stubble along the jaw line, and they both had tell tale wrinkles in the corners of their eyes. Eyes that had seen too much. She could see that clearly now. She could feel the exhaustion deep inside of them. A tiredness that said, “I've done all I can, and I still can't ever stop.”

She wondered, if she would ever hear the stories that caused that exhaustion...or the animosity. Every so often a new wave would emanate from Dean as he glanced in the rear view mirror. He'd squint at her suspiciously, as thought she might leap the seat and strike him at any moment. To live like that, Mackenzie thought, must be painfully lonely. Of course, she knew that loneliness all too well.

She sat back and closed her eyes, a loud sigh escaping her lips. Her soothing calm shifting to a bone aching need to sleep.

–

Sam turned and eyed the small sleeping woman in the seat behind his own. Her face and chest still speckled with blood, but her skin was smooth and young. It was pale as though she'd rarely seen the sun, and Sam supposed, she probably hadn't. Not much of it at least. He could see that her eyes were round and large but he couldn't remember their color now that they were closed. She was a brunette until her hair was hit by the light from the Impala's back window. A deep red played in the brown strands, and Sam found himself wondering if it wasn't just more blood.

She's pretty, he thought to himself. A soft, normal pretty. Too genuine to be stuck in the life of a stripper, covered in blood and with an almost dead body on her lap in the backseat of this car. 

Sam shook his head and turned back to look at the road in front of them. He cleared his throat and started the very conversation he had been avoiding, “Dean, I...”

“Save it, Sammy. You've always had a soft spot for the damsel in distress. Especially the ones that aren't all human. I get it, I do. I've fallen for my fair share of them. Maybe MORE than my fair share. I just think your timing sucks.” Dean rushed the words out, cutting off Sam.

“Dean, you know we couldn't just leave them there! And even you don't want to kill a 17 year old girl that may not even be infected.”

Dean huffed out a breath, “I just don't like all the baggage. And besides we didn't even finish the job. Those vamps, she said are running the place, it's not like they're just going to stop. They'll find more girls, Sam. You know they will. We could've stopped that.” he paused, looking almost sad as he stared out at the rushing blacktop, “But, instead we're playing 'babysitter' again to a possible vamp and a.. a something else. Damn, I mean, we don't even know what she is, and I,” Dean paused again, and wiped his rough hand through his short dark hair before he continued, “I don't think this one's going to have a happy ending.”

–

Mackenzie stirred in her seat as Dean pulled off the highway, toward a small dirt road that led to a patch of dense foliage. She took a deep breath, and sent her emotional feelers out at the brothers. She closed her eyes and sat back again,  
“Fine Sammy, but she's YOUR responsibility. Keep an eye on her.” she heard Dean say, but what she felt behind those words said so much more. The oldest of the Winchester brothers, was afraid.


End file.
